“How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.” ¹

I looked up from my book of poetry to gaze upon the brunette who had opened the cabin door.  She pulled a valise into the compartment and I stood to help her secure it overhead.

Glancing at the dog-eared book still in my hand, she asked, “What are you reading?”

“The girl who sat in your seat before left it in her haste to depart.  I don’t normally read poetry. “

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“End of the line.”

“You by yourself?”

The question amused me as we were in the cabin alone.  “I started with my parents at the terminus. ” I replied. “Then my sister joined for a bit.  They are on the train but on other cars.”

We sat and chatted as villages flew by the window – this was after all an express.  Occasionally the train would stop at a larger town, and we’d look out the window to watch other passengers getting on and off.

Her face began to light up when our eyes met. To be the subject of her smile was breathtaking.  

I asked if she was taking the train to the end of the line. “That depends,” was her cryptic reply.

“Read me a poem,” she suggested. 

I read Auden, from the poem which her arrival had interrupted. Upon finishing she looked at me and said nothing.  I decided she wanted to hear my thoughts. 

“We can love with generosity.  If we crave the same measure of emotion returned, we may hide our true selves from a fear that we are unlovable.  Our insecurity finds our companion, giving them a task they cannot fulfill.  Because they never know us truly, they cannot love us as we are.”

“The alternative is unconditional passion – to burn our brightest, to love the imperfections of our partner without regard for reciprocity.”

“The poem also implies that it is ok to love someone who is no longer beside us. If we found joy in their presence, we will always have the imprint of those moments.  In those memories we can find joy again.”

She smiled and said, “Are you making a memory now?  Let me see what it looks like.”

She stepped across the berth and threw herself next to me, glancing about – feigning to see the cabin from my point of view.  She pressed closely, despite the expanse of the bench.

We talked quietly and fell asleep, her head on my shoulder.  

When I stirred awake she was pulling her bag from the overhead.  “This is my stop.” 

As I began to protest she hushed me.  “This is how it is.  I must leave so the seat next to you is empty for someone new.”

I watched from the window as she walked down the platform.  The train pulled away and she was gone.  

She left me to shine her light on another.  But my light for her still burned.  And that is ok.  I smiled then, realizing that the seat next to me was empty.  

One day someone may sit there and ride to the end of the line.

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There are several ways to get over the Alps. Flying, driving, or riding the tracks. 

For those inclined for adventure, one can try something vintage – a scenic train with UNESCO world heritage status.  The Bernina route was constructed in 1910 and is still the highest railway across the Alps, with 55 tunnels and 196 bridges. One year I decided to take passage on this distinctive rail voyage.

My course went from Venice to Zurich, with a line change at Tirano.  After boarding the Swiss coach at the frontier the locomotive pulled us through the Alps to St. Moritz.  My cabin was comfortable and felt spacious due to panoramic windows. The weather cooperated, so I was also able to take advantage of an open air observation car for unobstructed views.

Our line of wagons finally descended from the mountains on its way to our last stop.  As we pulled into Zurich station I gathered a package of memories which a girl had left on the adjacent seat. These were her gifts to me, along with a passion she could not return.

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The Bernina Express © 2020-2024 by Dean Jen

¹ W.H. Auden, “The More Loving One,” from Homage to Clio, published by Random House 1960.